


Early in the Streets of London

by nalasan



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1910s, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Milkman-AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3233240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nalasan/pseuds/nalasan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of these May mornings finds Kurt sitting in the windowsill, scribbling on one of his music sheets. When he looks out of the window in a desperate search for inspiration, he spots the butler, Mr Macey, standing in the backyard, smoking and just handing a cigarette to the young milkman. The boy accepts the cigarette with a laugh, and Kurt lets his eyes linger on the figure of the milkman for a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early in the Streets of London

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a prompt I received from grantgustinakatheflash on tumblr:  
> “The story takes place sometime in the 1900s, when it was the norm to have a milkman deliver bottled milk right to your door. So basically, Kurt wakes up early one morning and happens to see the milk dropped off, and is instantly attracted to the milkman, Sebastian. So he starts waking early every morning just so he can watch Sebastian drop off the milk…”

The first time Kurt sees him is early on a cold morning in April.

Dawn is just breaking over the rooftops of London, the streets are still misty with the remnants of the last spring fog, but Kurt has been up for hours. He has spent the night tossing and turning, worrying over the exam he will have to face tomorrow. No, he thinks when he sees the first rays of faint morning light illuminating the remaining tendrils of fog in the street. Not tomorrow.

Today.

Sometime around midnight he has given up trying to get some sleep – instead, he got dressed, lit a candle and tiptoed silently through the corridors of the large house until he reached the library. He knows that studying now would be entirely futile, but the presence of the books around him calms him, as does reading over his favourite songs one by one, slowly and meticulously. He can’t play any instrument without waking the entire house, of course, but his fingers practice their movements while hovering over the piano keys, and his lips noiselessly form the words to every song he will be playing in just a couple of hours.

Finally, when he feels not more confident, but at least calmer, he steps to the window to rest his forehead against the cool glass, observing the London morning. Already there are people out on the streets, maids and cooks and servants hurrying about their business. Kurt’s eyes follow them, trying to determine who they might be, and where their steps will lead them.

Suddenly, his eyes fall on the tall figure of a boy who approaches their house with swift steps. He walks over to the servant entrance, and for some reason, Kurt decides to move over to the window on the other side of the room to watch him for a couple of moments longer.

The boy knocks, and Millie, the kitchen maid, steps outside and greets him with a smile and a few words Kurt can’t make out. The boy hands her two large bottles of milk and they chat for a few moments, until the boy waves a goodbye and turns around. He walks a couple of steps, and then, for some reason quite unfathomable to Kurt, he stops and looks back to the house. His eyes wander over the windows until they come to rest on Kurt. While Kurt has to fight the sudden impulse to step back, not wanting to be caught watching the other boy but simultaneously knowing that any acknowledgement will prove exactly that, the milkman’s green eyes linger on his for a moment, before slowly, his lips pull into a wide grin and he winks at Kurt. Then, without another glance back, he turns around and disappears into the crowd of busy Londoners.

* * *

The next time Kurt sees the milkman is roughly a month later. His parents have allowed him to move into the back rooms of the house, grudgingly learning to accept that their youngest son has no interest in entering the manufacturing business, but is instead a musical talent who needs to stay up late to work on his compositions. Kurt still feels utterly grateful for being accepted into the Royal Academy of Music, and he works harder than ever, often practicing until late in the night or early into the morning.

One of these May mornings finds Kurt sitting in the windowsill, scribbling on one of his music sheets. When he looks out of the window in a desperate search for inspiration, he spots the butler, Mr Macey, standing in the backyard, smoking and just handing a cigarette to the young milkman. The boy accepts the cigarette with a laugh, and Kurt lets his eyes linger on the figure of the milkman for a moment.

He is tall and lanky, with long legs and fingers that would make any pianist jealous. He wears his brown hair short above his ears, and his jacket looks worn out, with the seams beginning to fray. But his eyes twinkle with barely concealed mischief, and his gaze moves quickly and precisely, as if seeking to see through everything around him. Kurt’s eyes linger on the way his fingers tap against the wall next to him, on the way his lips curl around the cigarette before turning upwards into another smile that seems teasing and knowing at the same time. He can’t be older than Kurt is, perhaps even younger, but he looks a lot more ready to conquer the world than Kurt feels.

Kurt notices just a moment too late that the other boy’s gaze has met his own, that he is looking at Kurt with an amused expression, his left eyebrow raised in silent question. Embarrassed, Kurt turns his head away and looks down on the sheet music resting on his knees, and starts to scribble away furiously. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the boy shake his head and turn to Mr Macey, asking something while gesturing up to Kurt’s window. Kurt feels his cheeks heat up, and is thankful for the distance and the glass between them. He keeps his eyes on the paper for as long as he can manage, and when he finally looks up again, the milkman is gone. 

* * *

To claim that it becomes a habit would be too much of an exaggeration. But Kurt’s sleeping and waking hours keep being irregular, and every once in a while, when he is watching the greyness of the London sky change with the first light of dawn, his eyes catch sight of a particular figure, watching him approach the house with two bottles of milk under his arms. Oddly enough, the milkman seems to be looking for Kurt too, his eyes always trailing up to the windows of Kurt’s music room, and when he spots the other boy sitting in the windowsill, his lips pull into a grin which is an odd mixture of friendly and teasing. Most of the time, he nods or winks before he continues his way to the back door, sometimes staying long enough for a quick smoke with Mr Macey.

There really is nothing truly odd or deliberate about these moments – except perhaps that Kurt finds himself looking forward to them more and more.

* * *

 

The first day of July has to be the worst day of Kurt’s life.

He has been working towards this scholarship for weeks, for an opportunity to travel to Vienna, and stay at another school, meet new artists and teachers and finally see more of the world. But in vain – instead of seeing his dreams come true, he had to watch how the young Miss Berry managed to transfix the teacher’s attention so much that he barely noticed the other students, much less listened to their contributions.

Sleep seems impossible that night. Around midnight, Kurt slips out of the house and wanders through the streets of London. He stays away from the streets he knows his parents would not like to see him walk even in broad daylight and keeps to the main streets, wandering around and trying to digest his disappointment. It’s around dawn when he walks back towards the house, and the streets are filling with servants and apprentices, hurrying about to start their work. Kurt can already see his house at the end of the street when, suddenly, he sharply has to turn left to avoid a carriage coming towards him, and promptly walks into somebody.

“Watch where you-“ the other man says at the same time Kurt utters, “I’m terribly sorry-“ while staggering and trying to regain his balance. Hands shoot forward and grab Kurt’s elbows, steadying him.

“Thank you…” Kurt begins, and stops when he looks up and into a pair of startling green eyes. The face in front of him is familiar, as is the grin that slowly appears on the milkman’s face.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says, his gaze moving unashamed over Kurt’s features.“The window boy from number 12.”

Kurt realises that his elbows are still enveloped by the other man’s hands, so, though perhaps a bit reluctantly, he takes a step back. “I…” he says, for a moment quite uncertain as to how to continue, “You deliver our milk in the mornings.”

“Obviously,” the other boy replies, and his eyes sparkle with a sudden delight Kurt can’t quite explain. “I never fancied I’d see you out in broad daylight. Mr Macey says you work during the night.” He shrugs, his eyes never leaving Kurt’s face, “I always thought you were like one of those fairytale-princesses, locked up in your tower. You have the complexion for one.”

Kurt isn’t sure whether he is supposed to take offense at this, but when he looks up to see the other boy’s eyes – teasing, but not in a mean way – the emotion he feels is far from anger. Curiosity perhaps. And a little bit of thrill – after all he never would have anticipated that one day they would meet like _this_.

Not that he has ever imagined meeting the other boy at all.

Of course not.

Suddenly determined, he holds out his hand, “My name is Kurt.”

The milkman looks at his outstretched hand in surprise. His gaze meets Kurt for a short moment – suspicious, testing, waiting – before he slowly smiles again, and rough, calloused fingers embrace Kurt’s.

“Sebastian.”


End file.
